


A Wild Side

by JollyRogue



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2019-05-03 23:50:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14580360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JollyRogue/pseuds/JollyRogue
Summary: Captain Crozier discovers that his well-behaved steward isn't quite as prim and proper as he seems.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

 

The ice is ancient, and its grip relentless. Since September 1846 it has embraced Her Majesty's Ships _Erebus_ and _Terror_ like an unreasonable, obsessed lover that cannot let go.

The creaking and groaning of _Terror's_ timbers is especially perceptible at night. She may be a seasoned warship, her hull reinforced to withstand the firing of mortar cannons, but to the forces of a vast ice field she is but a tiny walnut shell.

 

Captain Francis R. M. Crozier is alone with the ice, and he has the shivers.

 

His teeth chatter, and he pulls his arms closer around himself. It's not the cold – although that, of course, plagues one too – it's one of the symptoms of the weaning off, or so the doctor has said. The goddamn shivers. He is sweating at the same time, but at least his thoughts are lucid now. The worst is over. _Poor Fitzjames_ , he thinks, wondering whether the _Erebus'_ captain really understands what he is going through. He might not apologize for helping himself to Fitzjames' whiskey, but he needs to apologize for punching him.

 

„Jopson?“ he mutters at the same moment the ice intonates a deep, primeval groan.

Clearly his steward can't have heard him, although he is camped just outside the bedcabin. Crozier feels silly calling out for Jopson like that – God knows he's done it often enough in the past few days – and, with an effort that makes his stiff joints ache, he swings his legs off the bunk. Slow and steady. Still shivering, he moves the curtain aside and steps into the great cabin.

Jopson has put up a hammock right there, in front of his door, next to the little heating stove, so as to be closer to his captain during the withdrawal.

The night is clear, and Jopson, the only company he doesn't completely hate right now, lies asleep in the hammock, illuminated by moonlight filtered through ice-glazed stern window panes.

 

„Jopson?“ Crozier whispers, gently touching his servant's shoulder. His conscience torments him for this, for waking up the poor man on a whim in the middle of the night – _again_ – but Jopson has always accommodated him with a smile, and does not seem to suffer from a lack of sleep.

 

„Sir?“ The younger man stirs, looking at Crozier, recognizing. „The shivers again?“

 

„Yes...“ Crozier utters from between chattering teeth. „Would you...?“

 

No need to complete the sentence. Jopson is already on his feet, escorting the captain back into the bedcabin like an invalid, and they lie down together in the narrow bunk, Jopson's body hugging Crozier's from behind.

 

It is more cramped than comfortable, but it is exactly what Crozier needs right now, what they've done many nights before already – he remembers how awkward it felt when he first requested it, but Jopson has never given the impression that his captain was asking for anything out of the ordinary.

 

So they rest, tightly entwined in each other, Jopson's arm comforting and strong around Crozier, his breath warm and steady, and the shivers subside.

 

Finally Crozier is able to fall asleep.

 

 

*

 

 

„A carnival!?“ Crozier has to remind himself to talk no more now or there will be an accident with a sharp blade. Jopson slides the shaving knife across his captain's cheek, swift and gentle as the touch of a feather, before wiping it on a cloth. „Yes, sir. A carnival.“

 

Of course Crozier is familiar with Arctic carnivals – he is merely surprised that Fitzjames, of all people, has apparently come up with that idea on his own. Well, maybe he's read about it somewhere. Do they even have any costumes on board? Surely there must be, right? Celebrations and parties have long been recognized as important medicine to lift sailors' spirits in these dreary Arctic winters ever since Parry's days.

 

„The doctor says it's the best time for it now“, Jopson says. He gently cups Crozier's face in his hand – warm palms, calloused fingertips, a familiar touch. A last swipe with the blade. „Because the sun is to return any time now. With some luck it may just decide to illuminate the party.“ He wipes the blade clean. „And we're done. Maybe you'll feel well enough to join by then.“

 

Crozier rubs his face dry with a towel. „You said it is – when?“

 

„The day after tomorrow, sir.“

 

Jopson is still standing behind him, his presence radiating warmth, and Crozier wants no carnival, no ball, no party, but only the comfort of this companionship.

 

„Jopson...“ Uncomfortably he turns around in his chair to face his most loyal crewman. „I know, I'm already much better … the shivers are gone. But ...“ He finds it difficult to hold Jopson's gaze. After all those years, he's still afraid that his steward might think less of him. It's too much to ask, this and now. He might appear capricious – or worse, weak. „But … I'd like you to hold me again.“

 

If Crozier is imposing on Jopson in any way, the younger man shows no sign of it. Instead there's the same cheer around his sensual mouth, the same empathy from clear blue eyes, as always. „Of course, captain. You know I'll do anything for you.“ His amiable smile is saying, _don't worry, sir, it is the most natural thing in the world._

 

 

*

 

 

Already two bells of the first watch have sounded, so they change into their long nightshirts before huddling together in Crozier's bunk. The tiny bed, not meant for two grown men spooning together when it can barely hold one, should have been disagreeable. Instead, at least for Crozier, it feels like a nest, a safe cocoon in this vast, strange cold. And, he reminds himself, it is not so different from sharing a sleeping bag with a tentmate, which he has done many times in his life – although not in an embrace as close as this.

 

Jopson's arm is around him, their legs intertwined, and he feels his steward's warm, regular breaths in the nape of his neck. Maybe this is what's really brought him through the withdrawal, and maybe it will be the only thing that keeps him sane in the future.

 

A barely audible snore tells him that Jopson is asleep or almost so, and his relaxed arm is starting to rest uncomfortably heavy on Crozier's waist. It must have been an exhausting day – this is the first time Jopson is falling asleep on him.

 

Crozier is about to drift off as well, when he feels _it_ – a rather heavy, hard _something_ – against his back, something that definitely has not been there before, not in this form.

 

_What the bloody hell …!?_

 

With their nightshirts offering no restraints, the sensation is blatant. Crozier, suddenly wide awake, realizes it all too well. Jopson's hard cock is pressing against him, against the older man's lower back, and Crozier quickly composes himself. Jopson is asleep, clearly! He does not notice. This is an embarrassing accident, nothing more.

 

Carefully he extricates himself from the embrace which causes the younger man to stir.

 

„Captain?“ Jopson looks at him, confused. Usually it's him who leaves the bunk to return to his own bed. For a moment Crozier is captivated by that look, innocent in its bewilderment, and at the same time thoroughly arresting due to the contrast between his clear blue eyes and dense, black lashes.

 

Crozier sets hit feet on the floor, not sure what to say. „Well, you … “, he mutters, gesticulating at Jopson who sits on the bed, his nightshirt tenting out comically over his erection, and Jopson realizes it in the same instant. He looks down at his crotch, eyes wide, blushing deep, then back at his captain. „Oh no... I …“ he stammers, „Oh dear. Captain, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...!“

 

The panic in those beautiful blue eyes, the horror at a most inappropiate faux-pas, is evident as his steward tries to produce an explanation, and Crozier can't help but chuckle. „Jopson, it's all right.“ He shrugs. „This is no great matter. You're young – it's all too quick to happen to young men. And ...“ – another chuckle – „it's been a while, hasn't it? You need to take care of yourself. Nothing unhealthy about that. Every man does it.“

 

Now Jopson looks away, but he grins, clearly relieved. „Yes, sir, you're right.“ He sits on his bottom as if ready to get up, legs closed, but his cock is still visibly upright and hard, and Crozier is fascinated – how it is standing even now? The humiliation would have been enough to make any other man's arousal falter.

 

Looking back into Jopson's eyes, Crozier realizes he's been caught staring. He makes a step backward, closer to the door, sensing the heat rise up in his own cheeks. „Well … I'll leave you to it, then, all right?“

 

„Here!?“ Now Jopson looks utterly baffled. _On your bed!?_

 

Oh, right. Yes, he is still sitting on Crozier's bed.

 

They focus at each other. Crozier's face feels hot, his mouth dry. Why is he still here? He has meant to leave, as it is the appropiate thing to do. But he can't – not with Jopson's gaze holding him like this.

 

„Well“, he says, voice low and slow. „You might wanna take off that shirt.“

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Crozier doesn't know why he said it. But he does not stop to think, and neither does Jopson. The younger man pulls his nightshirt over his head, throws it onto the floor. Now he sits naked on Crozier's bed, propped up on one hand, gripping his cock with the other. It's as if a stranger suddenly sat there. Never before has he seen Jopson like this, shamelessly bare, with a mischievous smile that says, „You dared me, sir.“

 

The captain breathes out, trying to silence the telltale sound. Thomas Jopson is breathtakingly handsome – of course, Crozier has long suspected that is steward and friend is well built, slender yet strong, an ideal shape for a man, but he's never given much thought to what clothes hide almost all the time. And now here he is right in front of him, all smooth olive skin, narrow waist and muscular upper arms and thighs, embraced by the warm shadows from the light of the argand lamp. A trail of dark hair runs from his belly button to the base of his cock. Jopson holds that cock tightly, slowly moving the skin along the rigid shaft.

 

Their gazes meet again. Jopson is still smiling, daring him back, teasing. The previous anxiety in his eyes is gone, replaced by a knowing, mature look.

He's caught his captain looking, holding his breath, _wanting_ ; something Crozier has not even known he wanted until now.

 

Crozier leans back against the sliding door, watching. A familiar warmth rushes to his own belly and groin. It's too late to leave. Too late to think. So he stays, looking on, savoring.

 

Jopson, looking for a more comfortable position, rests against the headboard, half lying down, and grasps his cock with both hands, pumping a little faster. His feet remain flat on the mattress so he can arch up his hips as he rubs and strokes himself vigorously, constantly bucking up his pelvis into his hands.

His breathing is picking up pace – it is now the only audible sound in the tiny cabin. The ice is silent, the ship is silent, it's only the two of them here now in a shared, secret moment.

 

A sheen has appeared on Jopson's forehead. He licks his parted lips, slightly panting. _Oh God, this man is gorgeous._ Who needs whiskey? Crozier can get drunk on this sight. He drinks it up with his eyes, takes it all in, making no effort to conceal his own rising excitement.

 

„You … like this, sir?“ Jopson's voice is deeper than usual.

 

Crozier manages a nod.

 

„Don't need to tell.“ Jopson grins again, breathless, his gaze wandering down along the captain's nightshirt-clad form. „I can see it.“

 

„Go on“, Crozier orders, a weak attempt to sound like a commanding officer, someone who has control over any situation – is _supposed_ to stay in control.

 

The sight is mesmerizing. A slight tremble runs through Jopson's shapely thighs. He is panting now, every now and then uttering a soft moan. His hand, moist with pre-cum is pumping fast, his chest heaving. Even so he manages to look at Crozier several times, and those inviting glances are almost enough to make the captain lose all self-control.

 

Crozier grips the nightshirt in front of him, pressing it against his own aching erection. _Oh, God._

 

Jopson's movements become erratic, and his thighs spasm. He gasps, eyes shut and brows furrowed in an expression almost like pain; and Crozier just stands there, incredulous, as he watches him come.

It's amazing, the vigor of a lad in his twenties. Jopson shoots two spurts onto his stomach, a few more drops leaking afterwards – quite a healthy amount, as Crozier notes, feeling reminded of his own age. He makes a step towards the bunk, watches part of it pool in Jopson's bellybutton while other drops run down his side. Jopson is still breathing hard, looking at Crozier with a fulfilled grin, leaning back onto the headboard and pillows.

 

Crozier grasps his own erection through the soft cotton of his nightshirt. There's a sudden wetness – both pre-cum and the sweat of his hands. „You devil“, he mutters.

 

„Come on, captain, you need it too.“ Jopson is teasing him, exhausted but still with that mischievous sparkle in his eyes. His face looks hot, with a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and nose, and his reddened lips are parted in an inviting smile, and _oh God_ , does that rascal realize what he's doing to him?

 

„Sir? Why don't you come here. Let me take care of you.“

 


	3. Chapter 3

Under any other circumstance Crozier would have thought it a ridiculous idea. Wanting another man – as if he were his wife!? For god's sake, he is not a bloody sodomite! But this isn't buggery, and Jopson is not any man.

They have a bond, a special understanding, a particular love for each other as only men, and only in certain situations, can know it.

 

Now Jopson challenges him. Lazy if not lascivious, he relaxes on Crozier's bunk, legs apart, cheekily claiming the scant space as his. It does not take Crozier long to gather his confidence. He strips bare, discarding the bothersome nightshirt, and climbs onto the mattress, astride Jopson, his erection leading the way.

 

It's been long, much too long since Crozier has been intimate with anyone and he does not even remember the whore's face, much less her name.

 

He pushes his mouth clumsily onto his steward's, wondering for a moment if one would do this the same way as when seducing a woman. Does it work like this with men, too? It certainly feels different – Jopson's face is rough with stubble, a peculiar new sensation, but his mouth is as sensual as it looks, wet and wanting, and he kisses it hungrily. Crozier supports himself on one arm, his other hand running along Jopson's body – it's incredible, how warm and velvety this skin is – grasping a round, firm buttock underneath him, squeezing his thigh. He smells the cum that's all over him, a briny scent like the sea, but deeper and muskier.

 

Jopson responds eagerly, reaching around Crozier's shoulders, caressing his neck, the back of his head, moaning into the kiss. Then he pulls away.

 

"Sir, I …" he begins. His pretty lips stay parted, as if he has difficulty grasping the situation, as if searching for words.

 

"Don't worry“, Crozier says. "I'll not bugger you."

 

"Of course, sir. But let me ..." He reaches forward, down Crozier's stomach, but cannot quite reach his cock. "I'll do it, sir, if you let me-"

 

"Lad, relax. Wouldn't want to give you hand cramps."

 

Jopson apparently gets a clear idea of what he wants. "Then come on me, sir, please!" He shuffles backward, inching away a little from underneath his captain so he now almost sits upright against the headboard, and he pulls Crozier with him. Crozier kneels, both his knees at either side of Jopson's lap, so that the younger man now has a perfect view of his captain's erection – and not without a pang of anxiety Crozier realizes that his graying pubic hair and flabby stomach are blatantly on display, too.

 

Then Jopson grabs Crozier's cock, now perfectly within reach, and squeezes it, looking at it in wonder. "I've dreamed of this moment, sir“, he chuckles, and Crozier can't believe his ears – _what did this impossible rascal just say_ – and Jopson begins stroking him in earnest. Crozier draws his breath in, exhaling with a moan.

 

A hand on his hip. "Closer, sir." Now the hand is on his bum, gently directing him. Crozier obeys without questioning. Then both of Jopson's hands are on his backside, each cupping a buttock, gently squeezing, and for a second Crozier wonders why they aren't on his cock, when to his complete surprise he feels something else there.

 

"Jopson“, he exclaims, dumbfounded.

 

His steward is leaning forward, half of Crozier's cock in his mouth, sucking, moving his head slowly back and forth on it. At the same time he keeps him firmly in place with his hands. _But, but, this is dirty,_ Crozier wants to protest, but the sensation is overwhelming, so much wetter than a hand, and _oh God_ , Jopson is sucking hard, trying to take him in even deeper.

 

Looking down at him he catches him looking back, and it is almost surreal. _Here is Petty Officer Thomas Jopson, working my prick like some harbour doxy_ , and his gaze is shamelessly holding his. He demonstratively licks Crozier's erection along its length, then grips it at the base while focusing his attention on the tip.

 

Clearly he's done this before. Crozier should be utterly shocked, but it's too much to handle right now, the wet heat of that mouth, the manual stimulation, and he senses the signs.

 

"Jopson“, he groans, realizes he needs to warn him. He puts a hand on his steward's head, not sure how to go about it – _Does he want to …? Should I …? –_ "I'm coming..."

 

The only response is a muffled moan. Jopson won't be pushed away. He holds onto Crozier firmly, moving his mouth along his captain's cock intently.

 

It is too much, he can't possibly stop anymore, it's all aching for relief now, forcing him to let go. His face has become hot, his belly and groin even more so. He shuts his eyes hard and fists Jopson's hair as the wave of climax overpowers him.

The reflex jerks his pelvis forward, and Jopson just about manages to pull back a bit in order not to gag, but his mouth is there the entire time, taking in all that Crozier has to offer.

 

Crozier opens his eyes, still breathing heavily as the peak ebbs away. His hands and face are tingling – he can't remember when he's last had this sensation – and he looks at Jopson, panting, speechless.

 

Jopson is resting again now, leaning against the headboard, wiping his mouth. He looks at his captain with a cheeky smile.

 

Crozier's thighs feel like pudding. He has to sit down. Jopson provides space by moving his legs aside.

 

"Are you all right, sir?"

 

"Did you – did you just …?"

 

"Yes." Jopson grins.

 

Crozier shakes his head. Unbelievable. He returns the smile awkwardly, feeling tired and guilty, and all sorts of other confusing things for which words are out of reach.

 

Jopson climbs out of the bunk, taking his nightshirt from the floor, and all of a sudden he is his usual, professional self, regarding his master with an innocent smile and familiar words. "If you need nothing else, I shall retire. Good night, sir."

 

*

 

For a week or so, they don't talk of it. Crozier has been afraid to ask, realizing that there's so much about his steward he doesn't know, perhaps things he doesn't _want_ to know. And his conscience torments him – as the highest ranking officer, he should never have allowed himself to take advantage of him in that way. Nevermind that Jopson wanted it, it still wasn't right, even without buggery involved.

 

But over time he finds himself seeking Jopson's embrace again and again, which the steward willingly, ardently provides.

 

He marvels at the contrast between Jopson's everyday well-mannered, unobtrusive personality, and the side he reveals when he is alone with Crozier past bedtime.

Then, he becomes eager to give and to receive, and frequently Crozier has to rein in the impulsiveness of this lad who clearly has a lot of pent-up energy in him, over and over again. But he savours every second of it, every inch of Jopson's hot skin and the touch of his hand and mouth, and they give each other all they can, stroking and fondling and sucking one another. Jopson even makes it clear that he wouldn't mind being buggered – in fact, he would _love_ it – but that is a line Crozier cannot bring himself to cross, despite everything else they've done, so he contents himself with spilling his seed all over Jopson's fine behind.

 

Whether merely for comfort and warmth, or for sexual relief, these secret encounters are part of their bond now, and if anything, have only brought them closer together, and Crozier finds himself more and more concerned with his friend's needs, and less with his own conscience. He wants Jopson to be fulfilled, he is ready to – what a strange concept – take care of him, _serve_ him.

 

And he thinks, maybe that's what love is.

 

THE END

 

 


End file.
